Brothers
by Esta
Summary: SPOILER alert: HIS LAST VOW! All he could do was staring at his hands. Shaking. It was so hard to control, the shiver. He felt so cold. They closed the door on him but he could not care less. "I am a high functioning sociopath..." (Just the little part missing between Sherlock shooting a man and his departure to Eastern Europe. )


**Brothers**

Summary: Just the little part missing between Sherlock shooting a man and his departure to Eastern Europe.

xxxx

All he could do was staring at his hands. Shaking. It was so hard to control, the shiver. He felt so cold. They closed the door on him but he could not care less. _"I am a high functioning sociopath..."_ His own words rang in his head.

Not crying. Dear me. Please do not cry.

"_Merry Christmas."_ A loud bang echoed in his head. Bammm.

And then nothing.

He buried his head in his hands. And for the first time in ages he started crying. One teardrop, two... not more. But they tasted bitter. He had never felt so utterly alone and helpless in all his life.

"_Murderer, murderer, Sherlock is a murderer..."_ Moriarty's mocking voice echoed through his mind-palace, the villain was no longer secured and chained to the wall in the deepest dungeon but running free in corridors and rooms. Laughing. Singing.

"_Do not cry, _

_Make him die, _

_Bang and boom,_

_Locked in a room, _

_Sherlock, Sherlock..."_

The man in his cell rocked back and forth, covering his ears with his hands. The black cloak was gone, like his shoes and his belt. As if he would kill himself, he was no coward.

"_Oh, please, love. Do us a favour."_

No coward.

"_Kill yourself."_

His veins were throbbing with longing. Seven percent was all it would take to make him forget. One needle and a solution – in every sense of the word. Finally his mind would come to rest. It was not that he regretted Magnussen's death, the man had deserved it. It had to be done. To keep John safe. But the man in the cell never had known he had it in him: To beat someone up – oh he had proved that when this stupid American had hurt Mrs. Hudson – to fight back, yes, that had never proved to be a problem. He had killed before. But never like that. Never in cold blood. Never calculated. Never willingly. Bammmm.

"_Murderer, murderer... you are like meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee."_

Seven percent. Or a gun. Or simply a belt. And it would stop. There was nothing left for him here. Prison perhaps. But most likely Mycroft would send him on that mission to the East which meant six months fighting and in the end death as well. It would be so easy to give in, so tempting. When he had been shot there still had been a cause to carry on. John. Always John. But John was safe, now. Mary was safe. Their child was safe.

"_It would break my heart."_

Oh shut up, Mycroft.

Slap.

Oh, thanks, Molly.

"_You are better than that."_

Please go, Mary.

"_Oh Sherlock, what have you done this time?"_

Go away Mrs. Hudson... oh, hello mother. Not you, too.

"_Sherlock."_

No, just, no.

"_Sherlock, please."_

John. Always John. John would keep him safe, he would beat Moriarty, he would make the pain go away. John. Sherlock slowly walked towards him. Would he ever see him again? In real life? John was safe. Safe. A safe hideaway inside his mind-palace.

xxxxxxx

Four times Mycroft had not dared to come home. And always it had been because of Sherlock. The first time was as a boy when he had to carry his crying brother home after stupid little Sherlock had fallen from a tree. His pirate ship, he had claimed.

The second time was to tell their parents Sherlock had overdosed as a teenager, an experiment just to find out what it felt like to die. Stupid little brother.

The third was even harder after all these lies Moriarty had plastered in every newspaper. But Sherlock was alive and not severely hurt, at least not bodily.

The fourth time he had tears in his eyes. He remembered the call. Sherlock shot, dying, on the way to the hospital, not sure he would make it. Brother dear. On that day Mycroft had known it would completely break him to lose his brother. Even though they had never been close due to their age difference, he had realised that there was no one else in the world like Sherlock. No other person in the world could make him love so much, so deep, so entirely beyond reason. He simply could not bear to lose him.

This time was worse. To tell your parents their son has become a murderer, that Sherlock had shot a man to keep his friends safe, that there would be a trial and a conviction and... How do you tell your parents something like this?

Oh there were other possibilities. Eastern Europe was waiting but so was death.

Mycroft's knees shook as he climbed out of the helicopter, John by his side. A rock in all this chaos – Mycroft admired the soldier for what he was. John must feel the same, his face mirrored the conflicted feelings. But his body language never gave a clue how near John's inner turmoil came to break him.

"Steady, Mycroft." John grabbed his arm. Mycroft had not even realised he had stumbled.

"I'm fine, John."

John smiled sadly at him. "No, you are not."

Mycroft took a deep breath. "You are right... I am... not." The helicopter started towards the sky as the front door of his parents' house flew open. Mother dear. "God, John, how do I tell them... I can't tell them."

"Where is Sherlock?" Oh damn his far too bright mother.

"Mycroft?" She always ever used his full name when she was cross. Or frightened. How to tell? How to tell? He felt like a little boy not the mighty politician he really was.

John's hand fell on his shoulder. "Let me do this, Mycroft." Mycroft shook his head.

"Mrs. Holmes, may I have a word?" John was leading his mother away, father and Mary in a tow.

Alone. So Alone.

"_Oh Mycroft, stop being so pathetic. You are always alone. Remember: Caring is not an advantage..."_

Smiling little Sherlock was standing right there at the entrance of Mycroft's mind garden. Beneath a rose bush lay Redbeard. The roses once crimson red had turned into black.

"_Haven't you heard it, Myc? The east wind? I have heard him blowing for some time... he is approaching, plugging the unworthy... Let's ride our pirate vessel on its breath. Say yes, Myc. Please say yes."_

**The end!**


End file.
